Like the Sun in a Gloomy Hour
by nothingbutgoneness
Summary: Blaine is a knight of the kingdom of Dalton. Kurt is the personal servant of Prince David Karofsky. This is the story of how they save each other. [Cover art by artistwriterloverfighter. Warning for mentions of non-con. Rated M for both violent and sexual content. Other genres include Adventure (-ish), Angst, Suspense (maybe), and Friendship. Tumblr is nothingbutgoneness.]
1. Chapter 1

**Like the Sun in a Gloomy Hour**

Blaine was drunk. Okay, perhaps he hadn't _quite_ gotten to the drunk stage yet, but he was getting close. He finished his third goblet of mead just as the prince called for his to be refilled for the fifth time. Normally the king, seated to the prince's right, would have warned him to slow down by this point—the feast had begun only an hour ago—but as it was the prince's eighteenth birthday celebration, the king indulged his son.

As the prince's closest friend and second-in-command of the military, Blaine was seated on his left. He leaned over to his friend. "Enjoying your feast, my lord?"

Prince David let out a jovial laugh. "Without a doubt, my good man. A man only comes of age once, and I have done so beyond compare."

"Only the best for the heir of the greatest kingdom of all, Dalton!"

The knights and nobility seated around the square formed by four long oak dining tables cheered at Blaine's outburst. Normally the knight was far more reserved, but after three goblets of mead, his tongue had loosened considerably.

Prince David turned to face the knights closest to him more fully. "Have you men seen the gift my father presented me this morning?" When they answered with polite _no-my-lords_, the prince called over his shoulder. "Boy! Come out here!"

From a darkened shadow of the great hall, near the servants' entrance, a thin, pale boy, likely close to Blaine's age, scurried to Prince David's side, head hanging in deference. "Yes, milord?" His voice was high and tinkling, like a bell.

Blaine was dumbfounded. The laughter echoing off the high stone walls and the succulent scent of food and the flickering candelabras all melted away as Blaine's wide eyes drank in the boy—_man?_—before him. His chestnut locks were swept up into the air, framing his moon-pale, angular face. His limbs extended for miles, covered by a too-tight dark blue shirt and a red tunic and too-long gray trousers. And his eyes—Blaine had galloped across the land, seen glowing oceans and sparkling lakes and lazy spring skies, and he had yet to see a blue so utterly dazzling as the irises trained on the dirty stone floors.

"Father gave me a new servant," the prince was saying. "I found him on one of my rides, and Father procured him for me."

A rosy blush crept up the endless porcelain column of the servant's neck, and Blaine wanted nothing more than to brush his—_far too rough, far too calloused_—fingertips along that unblemished skin, to see a delicate shiver overtake his lithe frame.

Prince David snapped his fingers once, and the servant replenished the mead in his goblet. The prince barked, "Now away with you!" and he skittered back to his place.

Blaine vaguely heard his comrades congratulating the prince, but Blaine's attention was still focused on the lithe figure enshrouded in darkness. As if they sensed the knight's stare, those incomparable eyes flashed upward to meet his. When their gazes—_awed and curious, unworthy and priceless_—connected, Blaine felt the stone drop from beneath his seat.

"I say, Sir Blaine, are you even listening?"

Blaine's eyes reluctantly snapped to the prince's bemused face. "My apologies, my lord. I was...distracted."

The prince continued his story, but Blaine's thoughts were still swirling around the stunning servant. Blaine normally had very little interaction with the castle's servants, save his personal hand, Sam, who was more a brother than an attendant, and a few stable boys. He knew his relationship with Sam was unusual—most knights didn't build homes for their servants' families or eat most meals side-by-side with their boys—but he had no idea how to interact with others' servants. He didn't know how to approach one and ask to speak. Was that even done?

An idea struck Blaine as he took a sip of mead. He excused himself from the prince and left his place as though he was going to relieve himself, but once he was out of eyeshot, he walked to the silent servant. "Excuse me."

The boy jumped. When he saw who spoke to him, his jaw dropped. He quickly recovered himself and asked, "May I help you, my lord?"

"May I speak with you for a moment?"

The servant looked thoroughly confused, but he murmured, "Of course, my lord."

Smiling broadly, Blaine slipped his hand into the boy's—_so soft so cool so smooth_—and gently led him into the servants' area. "Sire, wait—" Blaine brought them to a small alcove out of the way of the bustling workers. "—you shouldn't be back here—"

"What's your name?"

"Sire, I—"

"Please tell me."

"I—Kurt."

"Kurt." Blaine savored the name on his tongue, rolled it around, tasted its sharp flavor. "Kurt. Kurt, I'm Blaine."

"Of course you are, sire, I know this, you really shouldn't—" Those dazzling eyes flicked about nervously. "—you shouldn't be here."

"No, I mean, call me Blaine."

Kurt's eyes snapped back to Blaine's, and then dropped to their still-joined hands. "Sire, this is wildly inappropriate..."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, but...you intrigue me."

"Sire—"

"Blaine."

"_Blaine_, please, if the prince notices my absence I could get into so much trouble."

"Of course, my apologies. It's just...may I see you again?"

"I expect you'll see quite a lot of me, now that I am the prince's servant."

"Gods, I hope so."

Kurt's eyes met Blaine's again, but this time, some secondary emotion shone behind the anxiety. Curiosity. Intrigue. Desire? "I take my leave of you, my lord."

Before he could register his own actions, Blaine lifted the soft hand he held and brought it to his lips. As they brushed across the pale expanse, gooseflesh emerged there, giving Blaine a peculiar sense of triumph. "I shall look for you again."

"I—yes sire."

And then Kurt was gone.

Blaine made his way back to the feast, not passing Kurt as he entered the hall. He was grateful that Prince David was far too drunk to note either of the missing men. The festivities continued long into the night, with acrobats and sword-jugglers and flame-throwers and magicians all taking their turns to entertain Prince David Karofsky, heir apparent to the throne of Dalton, the most powerful of the five kingdoms of the land of Erie, and his royal guards.

When the celebration finally ended, long after the twelve bells of midnight, the king stood to toast his son one final time and then the party dispersed, lords and ladies and knights stumbling to their chambers, singing loudly and perhaps even beginning some amorous activities.

Blaine, too, was unsteady on his feet as he retired to his chambers (as second-in-command, he was afforded private quarters as opposed to the general barracks), but not because of an excess of mead or wine; he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in hours. No, Blaine was drunk on Kurt and his crystalline eyes. They clouded his vision as he shucked his layers onto the floor and crawled beneath his many covers in nothing save his undergarments, and they were the last thing he saw before drifting to sleep.

* * *

Because the military leaders were largely hung over, the knights' training was suspended the day following the prince's birthday. As Blaine was not one of those sleeping off pints of mead, he awoke with the rooster, his body conditioned to do so after over a decade. Sam arrived with their breakfasts on a single tray, and the two reclined in Blaine's bed, munching amicably. Sam asked to be regaled with tales of the previous night's celebrations, but Blaine had little to say. He could remember almost nothing save the beautiful boy name Kurt.

Sam noticed his friend's preoccupation. "Blaine?" Sam only called him by his given name when they were in private. "Is something the matter?"

Blaine contemplated this for a moment before asking his own question. "Sam, how well do you know the other servants?"

"Fairly well. I know the stable hands the best, since I work with them most often. I'm also familiar with most of the kitchen staff. Other than that, I know most of the names and faces of those who work around the castle. Why?"

"What do you know about the prince's new boy?" He tried to appear nonchalant by popping a grape into his mouth as he asked, but Sam had been his best friend for going on seven years now, and knew him far too well to be fooled.

"I knew he'd catch your eye. He's been working in the kitchens for about a week, hidden from the prince as a surprise. He's very quiet, but most new workers are." A twinkle appeared in Sam's eye. "Taken a fancy to the new boy, have we?"

Blaine threw a grape at him, frowning when he caught in his rather large mouth. "No!" Sam raised an eyebrow. With a groan, Blaine collapsed onto his back. "Yes! Oh Sam, he is perfect. His eyes...and his skin...and his _voice_—I fear he isn't even real. How could such a flawless creature truly exist?"

Sam eyed his friend carefully. "Did the prince notice your affections?"

Blaine glared. "Of course not. He was far too addled by mead to notice anything save his own—" Blaine stopped himself short. He tried never to speak ill of the prince, who was his direct superior and who considered Blaine a confidant, despite the knight's belief that he was a cold, cruel person much of the time.

Sam nodded understandingly and warned, "Just be careful. You know what the king has to say about such matters."

Of course Blaine knew. Homosexuality was strictly forbidden in all of Erie, a joint edict laid down by all five kings, including King Paul. To be caught with another man (or another woman, if he were of the other sex) was punishable by death—and neither Karofsky spared the chance to witness an execution.

Blaine had known he was differently inclined since he was young. He saw his fellow knights-in-training dress and undress every day, and by the time he was fourteen years of age, Blaine was certain he could never love a woman. He kept this secret closely guarded for two years, until Sir Sebastian, one of Blaine's least favorite comrades, cornered him in the armory. He told Blaine that he knew where his affections lay, and, even more shockingly, that he himself shared those affections. Desperate for some kind of connection, Blaine entered into an affair with Sebastian, meeting the other knight in haylofts and fields after dark to relieve their overwhelming desire. Neither felt for the other any emotion deeper than lust, but it worked for them.

Sam knew, of course. He was Blaine's best friend. He had caught Blaine slinking back into the barracks one night just a few weeks into the liaison. Blaine had panicked, naturally, but Sam had proved to be a trustworthy friend. He had confided in Blaine the story of his ex-girlfriend, Brittany, who dated a barmaid in town named Santana after her relationship with Sam ended. Sam had kept Blaine's secret to himself, and for that Blaine was eternally in his debt.

Sam inspected his friend's face closely. He had never seen a look of awe and wonder so staggering as the one Blaine wore. He nudged him gently. "Would you like me to speak with him for you?"

Blaine's head snapped sideways, eyes wide. "Would you, Sam? I must know everything about him. At least..."

"At least if he is similarly inclined?"

"I believe he is, but I must know for certain. He is the prince's servant after all. I can't afford to make mistakes."

Sam loaded the tray with the remnants of their breakfast and headed for the door. "I'll go now and try to find him. You should spend your day off contemplating your new potential love interest...just you and your right hand."

He didn't quite make it out of the room before a pillow smacked him in the back of his head.

* * *

"Hello Mercy."

The girl washing dishes looked up and smiled. "Hello Sam."

Sam shoved down the fluttering in his stomach as he dumped the tray onto a pile of dirty dishes. "How are you this morning, other than beautiful?"

Mercy's dark cheeks flushed slightly. "I'm working, Sam, you can flirt with me later."

"I'll hold you to that."

Sam opened his mouth to ask about Kurt, but the boy himself walked in, carrying a tray like Sam's, but with half as many dishes. His skin was sallow, dark bruises ringing his eye, his hair hanging lank about his face.

_This is what Blaine found so captivating last night?_

"You must be Kurt." Sam stuck out his hand for Kurt to shake after the servant relieved himself of his burden. "I don't believe we have been formally introduced. I'm Sam. I work for Sir Blaine Anderson."

Kurt's eyes widened mid-handshake. "Sir—Sir Blaine?" His voice was rougher than Blaine had described, as though it was strained. "Yes, I met him last night."

Sam eyed Mercy, who was focused on washing but was clearly listening. He gently led Kurt to the servants' dining room, which was thankfully empty. "Will you sit and speak with me for a moment?"

The other servant glanced about nervously. "I really should get back—"

"Just a moment, please."

Kurt shifted his weight between his feet for a bit before nodding. He sat carefully at a table, wincing as he gingerly sank down.

_That's interesting_.

"Kurt, are you feeling well?"

"I didn't sleep much, but I'm fine." He didn't meet Sam's concerned gaze.

"May I ask for you impression of my lord?"

That brought Kurt's head up. "I—he's—why—" He swallowed thickly. "He seems to be a good man. Quite kind. Quite unusual."

Sam smiled. "He is that. Tell no one, but when we are in private, he requests I refer to him by his given name." A blush. "He did the same for you." A nod. "Well, he told me from a place of friendship, but you...you are different. Special."

Something about Sam's word sucked the color from Kurt's cheeks. "I must go—my lord is waiting—" Kurt struggled to stand and nearly toppled over. Sam rushed to help him, but as soon as he touched the boy's pallid skin, Kurt jerked away. "I have to go. Tell Sir Blaine—" He choked on his own words. "—tell him I appreciate his interest, but am thoroughly unworthy of his attentions." Then he limped away quickly.

Sam sat down again at the table, mulling over what just happened. Kurt was definitely hiding something, and something had happened to him between last night's festivities and breakfast to radically alter the apparently majestic creature. He wasn't sure what to tell Blaine—_I think the prince beat the sin out of the man you're in love with? Oh, by the way, he is definitely interested in you as well, if only he wasn't terrified._ Blaine would go insane.

He slowly made his way back to Blaine's quarters, quietly contemplating. Just outside the door, he decided to be forthcoming with Blaine. He just hoped Blaine would take his suspicions lightly.

* * *

He didn't. His eyes burned with rage when he learned of Sam's observations. "How _dare_ he!" Blaine punched the heavy sandbag he'd hung in the corner of his quarters repeatedly. "He has no right! Nobility my arse—he's no nobler than a troll!"

Sam waited patiently for his friend's anger to subside. As soon as he'd mentioned the possibility of Prince David using a heavy hand on Kurt, Blaine's face had contorted in a manner Sam had never seen before. He knew it was torturing Blaine to be unable to protect Kurt.

After taking out his frustration on the bag for so long a small mound of sand had formed on the floor, Blaine turned to Sam. "I'm going to help him. By the gods I will get him out of here if it's the last thing I do."

"Blaine," Sam said carefully, "you must be cautious. If you don't watch yourself, helping Kurt may very well _be_ the last thing you do."

"I'll need supplies, and horses, and a place for him to go—"

"Blaine—"

"It must be done in haste, we'll go at night—"

"Please listen—"

"No one will get between me and my goal—he may not be a damsel-in-distress but he deserves to be saved—"

"Really, Blaine—"

"YOU WILL HELP ME OR YOU WILL LEAVE!"

Sam's eyebrows shot upward. Blaine and Sam had fought before—they had known each other since they were eleven, of course they'd fought—but never before had Blaine used his position as a weapon. Blaine saw Sam's startled, almost scared reaction, and he sank to the floor, fingers weaving tightly into his sweaty curls. "I apologize, Sam, please forgive me."

Sam slid down the wall beside his friend. "You must care for him quite a bit if you'd dismiss me to save him."

"I do. Gods I do. I don't understand it, Sam. I barely know him. But...he occupies my every waking thought. I think of his gentle nature and his magical features and his softness and his hardness and—do not _smirk_ at me, Samuel, you know what I mean—and...how can I be so in love with someone I hardly even know?"

Sam ruminated on this for some time before answering. "Brittany is...special, you know this." Blaine snorted, and Sam knocked his shoulder with his own. "Be nice. She believes that her cat is some sort of...familiar, who speaks to the spirits. She once told me that Lord Tubbington told her of soulmates."

"Soulmates?"

"Yes. Two people destined to be together for eternity. Their very souls have belonged to each other since the beginning of time. It's why Brittany left me; she says she and Santana are soulmates."

"Soulmates." They sat in silence for a long while. "Sam, how can I help him?"

Sam laid an arm across Blaine's shoulders. "I don't know my friend. I simply don't know."

* * *

It was days before Blaine saw Kurt again. Now that Prince David was eighteen and fully in command of the army, the pressure on him to keep Dalton in a state of battle readiness was infinitely greater. The knights trained from dawn until dusk—and sometimes later—every day save Sundays. Blaine returned to his quarters every night with muscles aching and eyes drooping shut.

When Sunday morning came around, Sam arrived later than usual with breakfast, expecting Blaine to sleep in. He was surprised to find his friend already dressed and ready to leave. "Where are you going?"

Blaine looked away from the ornate mirror in which he had been inspecting his appearance. He was wearing slimming jade green trousers, a light pink shirt, and a goldenrod tunic. A tanned jacket hung from a bedpost and his riotous curls had been tamed by a small amount of grease. Sam had rarely seen the knight look so put-together—except for his face, which was panicked. "Sam! How do I look?"

Sam set the tray on the table, confused. "Should you not be resting today?"

"Can't. I'm taking Kurt on a picnic."

Sam placed his hands on Blaine's shoulders and steered him to the bed. "You sit." Blaine obeyed. "I understand you are quite taken with Kurt, but he is the prince's servant, and thus very busy. If you distract him from his duties, you may cause the prince to punish him."

Blaine beamed. "But I won't! The prince has a closed-door meeting with the advisors all day. Kurt is to work in the kitchen, but they can survive without him for a spell. I've already gotten Mercy to make us an early lunch."

He tried to find fault in Blaine's logic, but he couldn't. "Fine. But you must be careful. A nobleman and a servant cavorting in a garden—"

"—won't be _cavorting_—"

"—especially when of the same sex—"

"—chose a very secluded spot—"

"—he'll be executed, and you exiled at the very best—"

"—no one's getting _executed_, gods—"

"—so be _careful_, alright?"

Blaine stood and embraced his friend. "Your concern is much appreciated, but everything shall work out. Trust me?"

"Too much, you bloody fool."

* * *

Blaine found Kurt in the vegetable garden, pulling plump tomatoes from their vines. He snuck up behind him and murmured, "May I steal you away?"

Kurt flinched so violently he toppled the basket at his feet. He whipped around and saw Blaine, whose flirty expression quickly turned alarmed. "My—my lord, I—I didn't see you there—I—" He fell to his knees and began hastily stuffing the fruit back into the basket.

Blaine kneeled beside him and stilled his hands. "Let me help," he whispered. Kurt watched as the knight finished the task. "I didn't mean to frighten you." Blaine kept his voice soft. "I only wished to surprise you."

Kurt looked worse than Blaine had expected. His skin was a translucent, sickly yellow, and nearly black circles framed his dull—_not bright, not infinite_—eyes. He appeared as though he had not slept or eaten for a fortnight.

Blaine gently placed a hand on his shoulder, noting the slight twitch. "I came to ask if you would take a long lunch with me. I would very much enjoy your company."

Not meeting Blaine's eyes, Kurt answered, "I can't, sire. I have work in the kitchen today."

"I've already spoken to Madam Bieste. She says she can spare you an hour or two. I have a basket all prepared." He motioned behind him.

Kurt deliberated for a long while before nodding slightly. Blaine helped him to his feet and waited while he passed his tomatoes to another servant. Then Blaine took his hand—_too hard, too cold, too thin, what happened, what happened, why can't I save you_—and led him out into the fields, dodging workers' straying eyes, until they reached an old stable where a few elderly horses were kept. When Blaine shut the door behind them, Kurt looked around the dirty, rotted space. "Sire...?"

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Blaine?" He showed Kurt to one of the stalls. "Kurt, meet Pavarotti." A fat golden mare nickered in greeting. Blaine opened the gate and motioned for Kurt to enter. He did so cautiously, picking his way through the straw. He stretched out a hand to rub the white spot on Pavarotti's nose, but the mare nipped in response. Kurt whipped his hand away.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Blaine dug into the basket on his arm. "I should have warned you. You can't touch the princess here without feeding her first." He extracted a bright red apple and offered it to the horse, who sniffed it once before devouring it. While the horse chewed contentedly, Blaine nodded at Kurt, who extended a hand once more to rub the mare. Pavarotti made a satisfied noise, and Kurt pet her more firmly.

"I come here often when I need to be...away," Blaine said, leaning against a wooden wall. "Hardly anyone save one stable hand comes out here, so this is a good place to sit and think. I haven't had a chance to come out here for some time."

"I can see why you like it." Kurt's voice was small in the large space. "I miss having room to think."

With a smile, Blaine laced his fingers through Kurt's, rubbed Pavarotti once, and exited the stall. He led Kurt to a hidden ladder tucked into a corner. "Up you go."

Kurt looked confused. "I don't..."

"Go on up. It's just the hayloft. We'll eat up there."

Kurt ascended the ladder slowly, and Blaine watched in grave concern as he winced the entire way. Blaine scrambled up behind him and set the basket down. He pulled out a large blanket and spread it over a spot cleared of straw, and then placed the food atop it. "I have chicken and greens with a bottle of wine. Is that alright?" He failed to keep the desperation from his voice, and his heart soared when Kurt nodded. "Good! Sit! I shall serve you." His choice of words caused Kurt's eyebrows to shoot upward. "Come, sit!"

Kurt perched unsteadily on a bale of hay as Blaine laid portions of food onto silver plates. He handed one and a linen napkin to Kurt before pouring two goblets of wine. He gave Kurt one glass and then took his meal and sat on a hay bale facing Kurt's. "So...tell me about you."

Kurt froze, a lump of a carrot halfway to his mouth. "Tell you...what?"

"I find you extraordinarily fascinating. I wish to know all about you."

This seemed to utterly befuddle the servant. "I don't..."

"Start with your name."

"Kurt, I told—"

"I meant your last name."

"Oh. Hummel. I'm—I'm Kurt Hummel."

"Well Kurt Hummel, it is lovely to make your acquaintance. I am Blaine Anderson, and I'd like to know your life story." He feared he was speaking too forcefully, but the nervous energy that the other man's presence evoked in him was causing his mouth to move far faster than his brain.

Kurt took a thoughtful bite of chicken, chewing slowly before beginning. "I was born in Lima, just on the edge of Dalton, by Westvale. My mother died when I was young, so for a while it was only me and my father. About four years ago, some refugees from a nearby village arrived, escaping a horde of bandits. We took in a mother and her son, her husband having been slain in the attack.

"And they never left. The woman, Carole, and my father fell in love and married, so now I have a stepbrother, Finnegan. Finn and I aren't very close. I was apprenticing under Carole, a healer, and Finn was apprenticing under my father, a wheelwright. We weren't perfect, but we worked." His voice grew wistful. "I miss them. These past few weeks are the longest I've ever spent from my father."

Blaine set his emptied plate and goblet aside and moved to sit next to Kurt. "Why did you come to Dalton?"

Kurt stared at the ground. "My father is very sick, and Carole, while brilliant, can only do so much with the herbs around Lima. There is a tincture that helps him greatly, but it is very expensive. The king offered me pay that would be enough to send home for the tincture, as well as food for my family. It hurt to leave, but my father lives, so I am happy."

He most certainly did not _sound_ happy, but Blaine chose not to press the issue. Instead he asked, "Why did the prince desire your service so greatly?"

The little color that had returned to Kurt's cheeks during the meal vanished instantly. "I—I do not know," he choked out, "but I am grateful."

"Kurt?" The servant looked up at the knight, eyes shining. "May I hug you?"

An array of emotions flashed across Kurt's face—confusion, fear, anxiety, want, sadness, desire—before he nodded. Blaine gingerly gathered the thinner man in his arms and embraced him tightly. He felt a shiver wrack Kurt's bony body, but no tears fell. Blaine brought his lips to Kurt's ear. "I'm sorry it hurts. I'm sorry you're hurting. I will try to make it hurt less." He wasn't entirely sure what he was even saying.

"Will you tell me your story?" Kurt's voice was small and muffled against Blaine's chest.

"Of course. But first..." Blaine reluctantly released Kurt and stowed the remnants of their lunch into the basket. Then he stretched out on the blanket, leaning against a bale of hay. He extended a hand. "Come."

Kurt took it without hesitation and settled between Blaine's legs, reclining against his chest. Blaine's thick arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him close. He rested his chin on Kurt's shoulder.

Then he began to talk.

"I am Sir Blaine Anderson, son of Sir Devon Anderson, second in command of the mighty forces of Dalton. I was born in that very castle. It's the only home I've ever known, even if...even if sometimes I feel like a stranger there. My father died in the war with Carmel when I was four. I was raised by knights from that point on. Most sons of knights begin their training at age eight, but I started soon after my father's death. My mother moved to Westvale when I was six and remarried. I have half-sister, Rachel, whom I have met only half a dozen times or so. Sam, my manservant, is my family. Tell no one, but when we are in private, he refers to me as Blaine, just as I asked you to do. We have been like brothers for many years now.

"This is not to say I do not love my true family. My mother, Lady Shelby Berry, is a hard woman, but loving. Her voice is beautiful. She sang to me lullabies nearly every night until she left. Rachel has a beautiful voice as well. She is even more ambitious than Mother. She is in love with Jesse, the court bard of Westvale, but wishes to marry Prince David and be crowned queen someday." Kurt stiffened in his arms at the mention of the prince, but Blaine chose not to ask. "I truly do not know whom she will pick. But I hope she chooses love over power."

"My secret wish, one I have shared with no one, not even Sam, whom I tell everything, is to run away. I love being a knight, truly I do, but this life...it is too much for me. I wish to live in a small cottage, to make music and share it with those in my village, to have a garden and some animals, just enough to feed my family. Oh, my family. Yes, I want one. Nothing big, just me, two children or so...and the man I love."

He heard Kurt's breath catch in his throat but kept talking. "I don't understand these laws the king handed down. Am I unnatural for feeling things deep in my heart? Was I unnatural when I felt them when I was very young? Am I unnatural for wanting to be happy as I see fit? When did the gods say this?

"But I shouldn't speak ill of the king, not if I wish to keep speaking. I shall move on to happier topics.

"Like you. You are the happiest of all topics. You and your endless beauty. But surely you know how beautiful you are. Let me wax poetic about your grace. When you moved the night we first met, your fluid motion mesmerized me. You owned your body and your space, and you held yourself more confidently than any king who ever ruled. And your voice...no songbird can compare. I'd give every possession to my name to hear you speak forever...or sing. I know you must sing beautifully. And your kindness...Sam has told me stories of you since our last meeting. You sleep very little and eat less, but you lend a hand to any servant, regardless of how busy you are. Sam told me of when you scolded a stable hand for treating Brittany poorly. I see how you give everything for your father. You are a good person, and in these parts, good people are hard to find."

Blaine wasn't sure at what point during his monologue Kurt drifted off, only that the boy's head ended up lolled back on his shoulder, mouth parted slightly. Blaine knew that it was getting to be time for Kurt to return to his duties, but he couldn't bring himself to wake the boy. Instead, he pulled him closer, tipped his own head back, and fell asleep.

* * *

When he awoke, Kurt was disoriented. Instead of a threadbare mattress on a grimy stone floor, he was laying on a small pile of hay and...a person? _Oh gods, Blaine_.

He leapt to his feet. Sunlight no longer streamed through the slats of the walls. His sudden movement startled Blaine who sat up groggily. "Wher'm'I...?"

"I'm sorry, sire, I did not mean to sleep. I must go—"

"Kurt, wait—"

"Thank you for the lovely day but if I don't leave now—"

"What will he do to you?"

"—I must go—"

"Kurt." Blaine reached out to grab Kurt's arm, and the man hissed in pain. As he jerked his wrist away, his sleeve came up, and Blaine caught a glimpse of a ring of bruises. "What has happened to you?"

With a choked sob, Kurt backed away. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Do not apologize for that monster!" Blaine scrambled to his feet. "This is his doing, not yours." Kurt looked petrified. "Come here." Blaine opened his arms and Kurt collapsed into them, shoulders heaving. Blaine held him tightly. "I will find a way," he whispered. "I will get you away from him if it kills me. I will rescue you."

Kurt pulled back and smiled wryly. "I am not a damsel-in-distress, si—Blaine. You can't save me, not if my father is to live." He carefully brushed a curl from Blaine's forehead. "I must go." He turned and walked toward the ladder.

"Wait!" Kurt froze, one foot on the top rung. "Please tell me what he does to you."

The fear returned to Kurt's eyes. In a flash, he was gone. Blaine rushed to the edge of the hayloft, but the man was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Sleep evaded Blaine that night. He tried to blame the situation on his afternoon nap, but the truth was that his thoughts were swirling too loudly in his mind to allow for sleep. All of them concerned Kurt. Where was he? Was he in pain? Was the prince hurting him? Had he eaten? Was he sleeping? Were his thoughts plagued with images of Blaine?

He paced about the castle in loose linen pants and an old shirt. The cold stone felt soothing below his feet. He paid no attention to his path but wandered aimlessly. His heart felt heavy and his mind noisy.

He stopped short at the sound of shouts and thumps. He looked about and saw that he stood at the mouth of the hall which housed the prince's chambers. The two guards who always protected this corridor were nowhere to be found. Blaine stepped forward to inspect the situation, but the chamber doors flung open halfway down and he froze again.

A crumpled figure tumbled into the hall. "Now leave, whore!" The doors slammed shut.

The figure waited a moment before straightening and turning. He locked up when he spotted Blaine at the end of the hall. His blue eyes were wide with panic.

"_Kurt?_"

The servant turned and sprinted for a small door at the opposite end of the hall, the servants' exit. He was limping heavily but managed to move very quickly.

"Wait!" Blaine rushed after him, but Kurt disappeared from sight. He wrenched open the door to see Kurt frantically slipping and tripping down spiraled stairs to the kitchens. After years of physical training, Blaine was stronger and faster; he caught up to Kurt on the third landing. He placed his hands on Kurt's shoulders and the man started to thrash. "Kurt, stop, please, it's me!"

Kurt fought to break free. "Let me go!"

"Please, let me help you!" Blaine cradled Kurt to his chest as the boy began to sob even more ardently than he had that afternoon. Blaine was probably crushing Kurt too hard, but he couldn't let him go. "Never again. I'm never letting him near you again."

After a few minutes, Blaine began to lead Kurt gently to his quarters. Kurt limped painfully the entire way, and Blaine's stomach flipped violently. He knew that limp. He had one himself the first few times he and Sebastian had been intimate. Blaine's stomach flipped as he fought to keep his supper down.

When he showed Kurt to his bed, Kurt balked. "No, please, don't..."

Blaine's brow furrowed, and then he understood. "Oh, gods, Kurt no! No! You can sleep here. I believe my bed shall be more conducive to a good night's sleep than yours. I have a cot I shall use."

"Oh."

Blaine handed him some sleeping clothes. "Take these." He kept his voice soft. "I shall step into the hall. Call for me when you are ready." He left his chambers. He waited a rather long while, and that gave Blaine time to think. The prince had _forced_ himself onto Kurt, the prince who, with his father, declared all relations between men to be punishable by death. He _hurt_ Kurt, this kind, giving, innocent man, this man whom Blaine adored.

Blaine's thoughts were treasonous.

"Blaine." A soft voice beckoned the knight back inside, and Blaine obeyed. Kurt stood by his bed nervously. "I know you said you would sleep on the cot, but...would you lay with me? Just for a while? It...it hurts less in your arms."

Blaine wordlessly turned back the covers and crawled beneath them, opening his arms invitingly. Kurt slipped into them, wincing as he leaned back. Blaine covered them and then held Kurt close, tucking the man's head under his chin. He allowed the feeling of comfort to sink over them before speaking. "How long has this been going on, Kurt?"

Kurt clutched at his arm tightly. "When he first saw me, he was riding alone, his guard off in the distance. I...I had just finished bathing in the lake, but I...wasn't wearing anything. He claimed I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and asked to buy me. The look in his eyes...it was as though he was a wolf and I a lamb. I wanted to refuse him, but the money he offered me, my family, was irresistible.

"...He took me the very first night I was in his service. His birthday. The day..." _The day I met you._ "It was a pain such as I had never experienced. I have read of male lovers in the past, but...he is loveless. Soulless. He pleasures himself on my bruises, my cries. The more he hurts me, the more...concupiscent he becomes, so the more he hurts me. It normally lasts only an hour or two, and the pain wanes by late afternoon."

Blaine pressed a soft kiss to Kurt's hair. "I have no words. I have known men who were captured once by Carmel forces and tortured for days, but never have I heard of such human cruelty. I shall slay him in his sleep—no, to his waking and fearful face for what he has done to you."

"No!" Blaine's head jerked back in surprise. "You cannot _attack_ him, Blaine. He's the prince. He could have you executed with a snap. I chose this, Blaine. I deserve what he does to me."

"Kurt, look at me." Kurt shifted to stare up at Blaine, eyes cerulean in the dark. "You do not deserve for anyone to lay a finger on you without your permission. He is entirely in the wrong. You are innocent." Kurt looked away and mumbled something. "What is it?"

"I am worthless."

"You are worth everything to me, my very life." Kurt's gaze returned to Blaine's, the intensity in the knight's voice startling. "I do not pretend to understand it, nor shall I fight it. I feel for you so much, it is as though I have known you my entire life. I do not wish to frighten you, to obligate you, because I don't expect you to reciprocate. But I would gladly sacrifice this life, my life, if it would please you.

"But I shan't ask anything from you when...when you're hurting. You mean far too much to me to hurt further. I shall respect your wishes regarding the prince's hellish behavior. But know that I do so under strong protest.

"And know this: You will always, always find refuge here. Any time of day, if I am here or elsewhere, you are safe here. I shall instruct Sam to have another key cut for you. I want you, if you are comfortable, to come to me whenever you are in need. I have yet to find a way to absolve you of this duty you believe you must fulfill—and have faith, I will—but until that day I shall be here to piece you back together when you feel broken."

Kurt gaped for a long while, and then flung his arms around Blaine's neck. "No one has ever spoken to me like this before. I do not know what I feel for you—I do not know what I feel about anything—but know that it is strong."

"Sleep. I shall be here when you wake. I shall keep the monsters from you tonight."

And so for the first time since his arrival at Dalton, Kurt Hummel slept through the night.

* * *

Things did not remain so hopeful. Kurt came to Blaine's chambers nearly every night to bury himself in the knight's arms, and nearly every night he awoke to screaming nightmares. Blaine held him more tightly and sung soft lullabies until he slept again.

Training was brutal, but not for the usual reasons. One was that Blaine was sleeping less, and therefore more fatigued in the fields. Prince David noticed and reprimanded him often in private, not wishing to inspire doubt in Blaine's leadership in the other knights. That was the other problem. Every time Blaine laid eyes on the prince, he desired nothing more than to run the wretch through with his sword. He became increasingly short and angry with the prince, who was quickly losing his calm over the situation.

One day Prince David called Blaine into his tent during luncheon break. Blaine obeyed silently, unable to look at the prince. The prince sat at his map-strewn desk and eyed his second-in-command steadily. "Have I done something to offend you, Sir Blaine?"

_You are a cruel, heartless heathen_. "Not at all, my lord."

"Are you certain? You have seemed...uneasy in my presence for a fortnight or so. You know I respect and depend upon your counsel. Why won't you share it with me?"

Blaine stared, dumbfounded. How could this man sit here, calm and collected and rational and respectful, as though he didn't spend every night abusing an innocent young man until he screamed and begged and cried and bled? How could Blaine offer him counsel when all he wished to tell him was to die a slow and painful death?

"I fear I have nothing to say, my lord."

The prince nodded slowly, inspecting Blaine's emotionless face. "Then I would greatly appreciate your more enthusiastic support in front of the troops. They are beginning to notice your inexplicable displeasure and morale is dropping. Dalton cannot be strong if its leaders are not united."

Blaine nodded sharply. "Yes, my lord. I will strive to do better."

Prince David looked utterly at a loss by Blaine's behavior, but he waved his hand dismissively. "Go on then, eat. We'll be fencing after our luncheon. I know how you love that."

"Thank you, my lord." Blaine bowed shallowly and hastily exited the tent.

He didn't think he could take this much longer.

* * *

Good news came four days later. Blaine skipped luncheon and retired to his chamber, hoping to cool his temper before returning to the prince's side. When he opened the door, Kurt attacked him, hugging him tightly by the neck.

"Kurt!" Blaine exclaimed, one arm slipping around the servant's back as the other quickly shut the door "What is the matter?"

Kurt pulled back and smiled brightly, an expression cherished in its rarity. "I just received the best information. The prince will be accompanying the king and the advisors on a four-day trip to Kinley. I am to stay here. I shall have four days away from him!"

Blaine tugged Kurt back into his arms. "Love, that is _wonderful_!" He spun Kurt around joyfully. "We shall make the most of it. We shall go for rides and—and have picnics and swim in a pond I know of and—"

Kurt laughed gaily. "Blaine! Calm yourself. We shall do all of those things, if you wish. I honestly don't care. I just need to be with you."

Blaine's breath caught in his throat. He had been conscientious in refraining from being physical with Kurt. The poor man had enough physicality without Blaine forcing himself on him. But in moments like this one, Blaine found it nearly impossible not to seize Kurt's face and kiss him until neither could breathe.

Instead, he pulled Kurt's hand so they fell onto Blaine's bed in a heap. Kurt immediately curled into Blaine's embrace. They lay together silently for the remainder of luncheon, brought back to the world by Sam, who knocked once and entered. "Blaine, it's time to return to the fields. Good afternoon, Kurt."

Kurt sat up, smiling. "Good afternoon, Sam. Sam, I've been meaning to thank you for being so...understanding, regarding my situation. You should report me to the king, and you haven't. You've been extraordinarily kind to me."

Waving his hand a little, Sam replied. "It is nothing. Blaine is my friend, and if you are important to him, you are important to me. I don't...Blaine has kept the nature of your servitude experience with the prince private, but I know it is unpleasant, and for that I apologize."

In an uncharacteristic move, Kurt stood and hugged Sam briefly. "Thank you." He turned to Blaine. "I should get back to work. I'll...see you tonight?"

Blaine nodded sadly. "I wish you didn't have to, but I'm glad you do."

"I'm grateful for the option. Goodbye." He slipped quietly out the door.

Sam grinned at Blaine. "So."

"Shut up."

"I caught you in bed again."

"Nothing remotely libidinous was happening!"

"Of course."

"Shut up."

"I heard of the prince's trip. Are you making plans?"

Blaine's eyes gleamed. "I am going to treat Kurt to four days of carefree fun. He shall be the prince for once."

* * *

Blaine was true to his word. After wishing the royal convoy farewell, Blaine assigned Sir Noah, the third-in-command of Dalton's forces, to keep everything under control and to tell Sam to find him should an emergency arise. He then retreated quickly to his chambers, where Kurt was waiting. The two snuck to the old stable to meet Sam. Their friend was just finishing attaching a cart to a horse. "All ready to go," Sam said.

"Kurt, meet Margaret." Blaine stroked the horse's mane. "She's more even-tempered than Pavarotti, but scares more easily, so I'll take her. You and Pav shall be good friends."

Kurt looked baffled. "I don't understand—what is happening?"

"I suppose I should tell you now, in case you find my plans disagreeable. In Margaret's cart are supplies for two days of camping. I know of a spot deep in the woods—safe, I assure you—where we can be by ourselves, with no judgmental eyes." Blaine moved closer to Kurt and spoke in a low tone. "I want to make sure that you understand something. I expect nothing of you. You owe me nothing. This is a trip for you to be free of the horrors of this castle. You set the rules. Does this sound...okay?"

Kurt hugged Blaine tightly. "This is more than I could have asked for."

They set off a short while later, trotting along a wide forest path side-by-side. The conversation was light and full of laughter, but Blaine found it hard to concentrate his ears when his eyes were so distracted. The yellow-orange sun flickered between tree branches and shone upon Kurt's face. His eyes danced under the matching sky, and his skin gleamed bright, the sunken pallor of the past weeks gone entirely. Blaine was mesmerized by the life Kurt exuded.

They arrived in a beautiful clearing just after noon. Wildflowers lined the oval space, and from the woods on the opposite side they could hear a brook bubbling. Blaine rode to the center and slid from Margaret's saddle. He then reached a hand up to help Kurt down, which was blushingly accepted.

Blaine erected a large, ornate tent as Kurt set up their luncheon on a blanket. They ate quietly, observing their surroundings and each other. Their eyes flitted to each other's and then away, and their faces seemed permanently stained red. A low tingle in Blaine's stomach drove away his appetite, but he ate anyway, if only to keep his hands and mouth busy.

After they finished, Blaine raced to the cart and extracted something. When he returned, he was holding a thick book. "Have you heard of Guillaume de Poitiers?" Kurt shook his head. "He is a French poet. I read this poem while perusing the royal library, and...I thought of you. I hope you will forgive me if you find me too forward, but I should like to read it to you. I changed some words, but the effect should stay the same. May I?"

Kurt opened his mouth as though to speak, but then closed it, nodding. Smiling shyly, Blaine cracked open the tome, removed the ribbon marking the desired poem, and began to read in a softly, with emotion.

"Greet the joy that I take in love,  
A joy where I can take my ease,  
And then in joy turn as I please,  
Once more with the best I move,  
For I am honoured, he's above  
The best that man can hear or see.

"I, as you know, small credit take,  
Nor for myself claim any power,  
Yet if ever a joy should flower,  
This one should, and overtake  
All others, Earth from shadows wake  
Like the sun in a gloomy hour.

"No man can fashion such a thing,  
By no wish of his, no desire,  
Nor by thought or dream aspire  
To such a joy, as he will bring,  
All year I could his praises sing  
And not tell all before I tire.

"All joys are humbled, all must dance  
To his law, and all laws obey  
My sovereign, with his lovely way  
Of greeting, his sweet pleasant glance,  
A hundred years of life I'd grant  
To him who has his love in play.

"His joy can make the sick man well,  
And through his anger too he dies,  
And fools he fashions of the wise,  
And handsome men age at his spell,  
And status, wealth he can dispel  
And raise the beggar to the skies.

"Since man can find no better here,  
That lips can tell of, eyes can see,  
I wish to keep him close to me.  
To render my heart fresh and clear,  
Renew the flesh, too, so the sere  
Winds of age blow invisibly.

"If he'll grant his love in measure,  
My gratitude I'll then declare,  
And conceal it and flatter there,  
Speak and act all for his pleasure;  
Carefully I'll prize my treasure,  
And sing his praises everywhere.

"I daren't send this by another,  
I have such fear of his disdain,  
Nor go myself, and go in vain,  
Nor forcefully make love to him;  
Yet he must know I am better  
Since he heals my wounds again."

Blaine closed the book and looked up at Kurt. When he saw tears in the younger man's eyes, he panicked—_too fast, too much, not wanted_—and started to babble. "Kurt, Kurt, I apologize, I never wished to bring you pain, only to say—I mean—I am so sorry—"

Kurt placed a finger to Blaine's lips to silence him. The feeling of cool skin on his lips certainly distracted him. Gazing intently into Blaine's wide, worried eyes, Kurt asked, "Blaine...what are you saying?"

Blaine swallowed thickly, gently taking Kurt's hands in his own and holding them in his lap. "Kurt, there is...a moment...when you say to yourself, 'Oh. There you are. I've been looking for you forever.' The first time I saw you, those weeks ago...that was a moment for me. About you.

"I have no explanation for my sudden and intense feelings for you, only that they are quite real and undeniable. I have grown to know you, and despite the horrors you face, you are strong and lovely and intelligent and perfect, and I cannot quell any longer my deep admiration for you.

"I love you, Kurt."

For a long while, Kurt said nothing. He stared hard at their intertwined hands, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Just when Blaine was about to burst with fear, Kurt met his gaze. "I love you too, Blaine. So very, very much."

It was as though Blaine melted. His shoulders sagged in relief and a sun-bright grin spread across his face. "Truly? You love me?"

"Blaine, when I first arrived here, I knew no one, and few would take the time to speak with me, save Sam and Mercy. And then I entered into the prince's service and...you were there. You could do nothing to stop him, but you refused to give up. You pieced me together when I was falling apart, and now, when I'm with you...I feel whole in a way I have never felt before. I know our relationship is criminal for several reasons, but I love you, Blaine—a knight and a man—and I simply cannot care for the law."

Blaine leaned in close. "May I please kiss you?"

Kurt hesitated, and Blaine was sure he would be rejected. But then soft, plump limps covered his own, and this was what the bards sang of in their odes to the gods. Blaine's entire world was this boy and his lips and their hands and their breaths and their heartbeats. This was the moment for which Blaine had been waiting eighteen years.

Kurt broke away first, gasping for air. A dopey smile covered his face. "That...that was..."

"Perfect."

Kurt smiled shyly below his lashes. "Would you mind terribly if we did that again?"

Blaine cupped his cheek. "It would be an honor."

* * *

The nature of the meeting with the court of Kinley was kept a tight-lipped secret. King Paul and the caravan arrived within the day, and the council convened straight away, despite the late hour. Present were only both kings, Prince David, each king's top advisors, and a few pages.

There was little to discuss the first day. "So we are in agreement, King William?"

"Yes, my friend. Queen Sue has terrorized the southern kingdoms of Chero and Carmel for far too long. The army of Westvale must be stopped, and I believe the combined forces of Kinley and Dalton are the only means by which to stop them."

"When do we attack?"

"When will your men be ready?"

"David?"

David sat up primly. "My men have been training harder than ever these past few weeks. Give us a day to organize and we shall be at your service."

"Excellent. The Karofsky family has done well with the crown. You shall make a fine king, Prince David." David glowed.

As the kings and advisors began to suss out the details of the upcoming confrontation, no one noticed a page slip out of a side door. That page stole through several passages until he reached a far wall of the castle of Kinley. Waiting for him at a window was a beautiful peregrine falcon, the fastest bird in the world. The page carefully attached a tiny scroll to the falcon's leg and tossed the bird out the window, smiling as it took off into the sunset sky. He watched it disappear and then quickly returned to his post, with no one the wiser.

Approximately an hour later, under a darkened sky, a field commander caught the bird and removed its burden. He released the falcon and rushed the scroll to his superior. "M'lady, this just arrived."

A bony hand grabbed the paper and snapped it open. "Yes. At last." The scroll was tossed onto a desk.

_War is coming_.

* * *

When darkness fell upon the clearing in the woods, the young men retreated to their tent. The tent was spacious, with a large straw mattress in the center. Blaine laid his hands on Kurt's hips. "Is this okay? Our relationship has changed, but I don't see why we should sleep differently than we usually sleep."

Kurt just smiled and swiftly removed his shirt. Blaine's eyes blew wide as Kurt shimmied out of his trousers, standing before him in only his undergarments. "We should go to bed." He collapsed onto the mattress, pulling the covers over his nearly bare body.

"Y-yes," Blaine choked, quickly ridding himself of his own clothes. He slid into bed beside Kurt. He started to panic—_touch don't touch everything is different what do I do what do I do what do—_but Kurt took control by sliding an arm over his chest and mouthing at the side of Blaine's neck. Blaine groaned. "_K-Kurt,_ what're—what're you doing?"

"I'm taking what I want. Do you protest?"

"_Gods no_."

Kurt swung a leg over Blaine's body, perching gently on the knight's stomach. He ground his hips down and back, and Blaine thought his mind would explode with pleasure. A hand started to rub at his aching manhood, and his eyes, which he hadn't known he'd closed, sprang open. "Kurt—you feel—"

Kurt locked his lips over Blaine's and plunged his tongue between them. Blaine's hands flew to Kurt's hips, steadying him and thumbing the soft skin. Kurt's hand left Blaine's cock and scrambled to pull off Blaine's undergarments. "Want to feel you—need to feel you—"

Blaine's hips bucked upward as Kurt's fingers brushed his slit, pitching Kurt forward. He took the opportunity to rid Kurt of his own undershorts. He was slightly too enthusiastic, though; he ended up toppling Kurt to the side, and the two burst into laughter. "My apologies," Blaine gasped. "I seem to be a tad overzealous."

"No complaints here." Kurt shifted on the bed and licked a stripe up Blaine's flushed dick. Blaine released a strangled sound. Kurt sucked and licked and blew the needy cock, reveling in the noises streaming from Blaine's mouth. He pulled off with a pop and kissed Blaine deeply.

Blaine carefully rolled them so that he hovered over Kurt, who clung to his arms. "Are you...okay with this?"

Kurt nodded. "I...when Prince David...uses me, I'm always on my stomach. Or over a table. Or occasionally against a wall—my point being, I've never faced him."

"Good," Blaine murmured, tongue trailing across Kurt's jawline. "I want you to see me and know me, to feel how real my love for you is." He canted his hips downward, rubbing their hard cocks together. They moaned in tandem, fingers weaving in each other's hair as they rocked together. They moved faster and faster, naked bodies slick with sweat, writhing and throbbing until Blaine exploded over Kurt's stomach, the younger man following a few moments later as Blaine rutted against him. They fell into a heap against the bed, gasping for air and clutching at one another.

After a while, Blaine rolled to his side, pulling Kurt into his arms. "You are more beautiful than the moon or the stars or all the gems in the land. I am honored to call you mine own."

"And I you."

They fell asleep tangled in askew covers, breathing as one.

* * *

As two boys slept, a force thousands strong on the border of Westvale and Dalton gathered. Endless legions of men waited, their surroundings lit by hundreds of torches. No one spoke.

A tall, regal, battle-dressed woman astride a black stallion appeared on a hill before the army. She raised her broadsword, a massive, jewel-encrusted piece, and shouted, "The war begins tonight! Men, march!"

A deafening battle cry rose from the army. They moved forward as one, spilling over the border into unsuspecting sleeping villages.

War had arrived at Dalton.

* * *

"Blaine! Blaine!"

The voice shouting his name roused him. He blinked blearily at his surroundings, then smiled when he saw the slumbering man in his arms. He wanted to kiss him awake, but the voice grew louder. "BLAINE!"

Blaine shot upright, unintentionally jostling Kurt, who startled awake. "Who's there?"

"Blaine! Wake up! We're under attack!"

Blaine scrambled into his trousers. "Stay here, I'll be but a moment." He poked his head out of the tent to see Sam rushing toward him, panicked. "What are you—"

"The Queen of Westvale led her army into Dalton last night. They've razed entire villages. They're on the march to the castle. They aim to topple us while the king is in Kinley!"

Blaine nodded once and retreated inside the tent to face Kurt. "Did you hear him?" Kurt nodded. "We must dress. Hurry." A minute later, they stood outside the tent, Blaine holding Kurt tightly. "Sam, you came here on a stallion?"

"Yes, Wesley."

"Good. I will take him back to lead the defense. You and Kurt take the mares. Once you reach the castle, you are to take him to the stronghold underground. If everything goes well, the village outside Dalton shall be there as well." Blaine stared intently at Sam. "You protect him, Samuel. I have only just found him, I do not intend to lose him." Sam nodded. "Please begin packing the cart." Sam jolted to work.

Kurt turned to Blaine, blue eyes wide with fear. "My father—Lima—right on the border of Westvale—"

Blaine hugged him close. "I am certain they are fine. My priorities now are you and Dalton."

"What if you d—"

"Don't say it. We shall see tomorrow, together. I must go lead my men."

Kurt kissed Blaine hard. "You are so very brave."

"You have made me so."

"You must go. Save the kingdom. Be a hero. Make me proud."

"I will try my hardest."

They kissed one last time, and then Blaine murmured, "I love you," and disappeared into the woods. He mounted the waiting stallion and tore off toward Dalton.

* * *

Wes jolted to a stop in the training field of Dalton. Every knight and foot soldier had been assembled and was waiting for Blaine's command. Sir Noah stood at the front of the troops. Blaine approached him swiftly. "What have we for news?"

"Scouts estimate that the queen's forces will descend upon the castle within two hours."

"Has the king been notified?"

"Messengers were dispatched as soon as we received word of the attack. We have no way of knowing when they will return with King William's reinforcements."

Blaine nodded sharply. He then strode to a high point and gazed out at the several thousand men ready for battle. He steeled himself and spoke out, his voice echoing over the army. "This is our home. This is where we were raised, where we raise our own families. This is not a perfect place, but it is indubitably _ours_. And it has been invaded. Ravaged. Violated. Our compatriots on the border lost their lives, their loved ones, at the hands of a cruel woman who desires nothing more than to make others suffer.

"But we. Shall. Not. Surrender. We shall meet this challenge head-on and we shall win. No one, _no one_, may enter this kingdom under a flag of war and leave under a flag of victory. Men, take up your arms, because on this day, we fight for Dalton!"

"FOR DALTON!" came the thundering reply.

Blaine returned to Sir Noah's side. "Take the flanks out by the river and the eastern hills. Hide them well. Assign a group or two to scour the village. Anyone who remains must be taken to the stronghold, their wills be damned. Has everyone in this castle already taken refuge?"

"Yes, sire."

"Excellent. I shall take the main forces and wait before the drawbridge. This fight will be bloody, Sir Noah, but we shall win."

The two knights shook hands firmly and separated to prepare for battle.

* * *

The trip to the clearing had taken two and a half hours, but the trip back took half that. Kurt and Sam raced the old mares far too hard, but Kurt could not find it in him to care. They made it to the stable and quickly returned the horses to their stalls, leaving the cart packed. Sam ushered Kurt out of the barn. "Let's go, Kurt. We must hide you below the castle—"

"Absolutely not."

Sam looked puzzled. "But—Blaine said—"

"I do not care what Blaine said. I may not be able to fight, but I certainly can help. I apprenticed under my stepmother, Carole, the town healer, for several years before coming here. I can patch together the wounded men."

"No, Blaine told me to—" Kurt simply walked away in the direction of the castle. Sam sighed. "Good luck with this one, Blaine."

* * *

The sun has passed its peak by the time the queen of Westvale and her men came into sight over the horizon. Blaine sat astride Wes as they approached, two thousand or so men behind him. The drawbridge behind the last man was down, but could be raised in a moment in case of a retreat. Blaine could feel the tension of each man as they all waited for something to start the battle. He knew there would be no peaceful resolution to this conflict, but he still hoped beyond hope for one.

The Westvale army halted half a mile away. A single man—boy, no older than fourteen—ran the distance. As he neared Blaine, the men closest to him drew their swords, but Blaine eased them with a raised hand. The boy skidded to a stop a few feet from Blaine.

"State your business, child."

"M-my lady instructed me to give you this." He extended a piece of parchment upward. Blaine slowly took it, smothering a laugh when the boy flinched. As soon as the note left the boy's hand, he was off, sprinting back to the other army.

Blaine opened the note and frowned. He crumpled it and raised his sword above his head. "MEN, FORWARD!"

Thousands of feet and hooves raced forward to meet the other army, each trampling the tiny piece of parchment.

_I will destroy all you hold dear._

* * *

The first wave of wounded men arrived in the great hall only ten minutes or so after the battle's commencement. Kurt darted from cot to cot, wrapping bandages and applying poultices and serving water. He was one of only three healers, with a few servants, like Sam, as helpers, so he felt as though he was being pulled in every direction at once. In each face he searched for dancing hazel eyes, but he never saw them. He knew he should be relieved—_not hurt not dying not in pain_—but he saw the steadily growing pile of bodies in the courtyard, and he knew he would take an injured Blaine over a dead one.

The shrieking cry of metal on metal, the hoarse shouts of men straining, the angry squeals of horses—the sounds of battle that were matched only by the pained groans of fallen men. Kurt never imagined that war would be so _loud_. He tried his hardest to insulate himself from the horrific sounds of death, but the _thudthudthudthud_ of his heart was his only solace.

"Kurt, please fetch some more water from the well." Kurt nodded at the matron, lifted two empty buckets, and dashed into the courtyard. He could see the battle clearly. The Westvale forces had pushed Dalton back so the men in the rear were only a few hundred yards from the drawbridge. Kurt stared out worriedly, hoping to see Blaine.

He didn't.

He filled the buckets with a sigh and returned to work.

* * *

Blaine grew up listening to stories of his father. Sir Devon was widely regarded as the bravest knight in all of Erie. He fought valiantly in the many battles between Dalton and Carmel and completed missions all over the land for the glory of the kingdom. Blaine learned first from his mother and then from the older knights of his father's heroism, and strived every day of his life to be the man and the knight his father was. Despite being a peaceful person, he dreamt of battle, of the clash of swords, of protecting the land of Dalton.

Never again.

Battle was hell. On every side, men, from Dalton and from Westvale, old and young, with families and dreams and responsibilities, were cut down, soaking the fields with blood. Sweat poured from Blaine's skin, matting his hair to his face and blocking his vision. His armor gleamed, as did his never-stilling sword. The fight could not have started more than an hour ago, and already he'd slain at least fifty men. He saw the light leave each's eyes and _stop thinking, Blaine, stop thinking_.

The Westvale forces were pushing back hard, driving Blaine and his men toward the drawbridge. Blaine found it difficult to be both a leader and a soldier; he couldn't stop fighting, but he had to do something to rally his men.

Just as he was about to order a retreat into the village, beyond the castle gates, Sir Noah sent his men careening into the fray from both sides, a surprise flank attack on Queen Sue's men. In one swift move, Dalton had the upper hand.

"LET'S GO MEN!" Blaine roared, leading a strong push back from the tired fighters. The Westvale men looked nervous but fought back with vigor.

Blaine grinned. They were going to _win_. He just knew it. He raised his sword to end an opponent—

The sound was indescribable. He may have been able to put a name to it if the blinding pain hadn't set in moments later. He collapsed, sword falling from his limp hand. Blackness began to descend upon him, but he could make out a man dressed in the green and silver of Westvale standing over him, the tip of his sword dangling above his heart.

"BLAINE!"

Suddenly the man was gone, a splash of burgundy blood in his place, and Sebastian's terrified face swarmed what vision he had left. "Blaine, no, just hold on, I'm taking you to the infirmary, don't you die on me—" And then he was in the air, flying through seas of men. He could see and hear little, and the last thing he processed before darkness claimed him completely was a familiar bell-like voice shouting, "Blaine!"

* * *

When Sebastian turned into the great hall, he shouted, "Quickly! Our leader has fallen!" He heard several gasps, and a pained cry of "Blaine!" that caught his attention. Only he and Sam (and some of the older knights) had ever referred to Blaine so familiarly. He laid Blaine on an empty cot, and a thin boy with shocking blue eyes appeared at his side.

"Blaine. Blaine. Blaine."

The boy knelt beside the cot, frantically pulling off Blaine's armor. A pool of blood spilled onto the floor. "Oh gods, MATRON!"

Sebastian stood awkwardly to the side as the boy and the matron began to patch up the barely breathing knight. The boy's hands shook as they wiped a wet cloth over Blaine's face, the only task they could seem to handle. The matron cleaned the wound as best she could, but it still bled profusely.

Sebastian was intrigued by the boy's face. Tears streamed from his eyes and his lips never stopped babbling. His eyes, wide and panicked, never left Blaine's body.

They were_ lovers_.

He knew he had no claim to Blaine. They satisfied each other's secret needs, that was all. But that knowledge did nothing to assuage the small twinge in his heart when he saw the anguish in the heartbroken boy's eyes.

His affair with Blaine was most certainly over.

* * *

No.

No.

No.

_No._

_NO!_

Kurt's mind was whirling. Blaine was laid onto a cot and Kurt was there, hands fluttering uselessly. He wanted—needed to help the matron—_blood blood so much blood heal him save him stop this save him he's dying he's _dying_ don't die_—but all he could see was the far too shallow rise and fall of Blaine's chest.

A rag was shoved into his hands, soaking his fingers, and he wiped the sweat and blood from Blaine's face. His fingertips brushed his brow line lightly.

"I love you." His lips started moving by Blaine's ear without his permission. He knew he shouldn't say those things with so many people in earshot, especially the nameless knight who delivered Blaine, but once he started, he couldn't stop. "You saw me when no one else would. I was just another faceless statue in a uniform, but you saw _me_. You brought me back to life when I thought I was dead, and...and you reminded me what of feels like to love and be loved.

"So you cannot die, Sir Blaine. Because without you, I cease to have meaning. I need to see your eyes brighten with the early morning sun and your lips move with my saving words and your arms pull me close. I need you, Blaine. Don't leave me."

The matron finished tying off Blaine's wound and said, "The best thing we can do now is wait. He does not appear to have been stabbed deeply, but I have no way of knowing if organs were hit." She eyed Kurt carefully. "Will you stay with him?" Kurt nodded. "Fine. I shall go attend to the other casualties. Alert me of any change." She bustled to another cot.

The strange knight swallowed thickly. "I should—I should return to the fields. Inform Sir Noah of his new command."

Kurt looked up at him gratefully. "Thank you, kind knight, for bringing him here. I shall look after him to the best of my abilities, I swear to it."

The knight nodded. "Yes, well, good day." He disappeared.

* * *

Pain. Everywhere.

And yet—hand?

Long, soft fingers interwoven with his own. Squeezing. Brushing. Caressing.

Lips on his ear.

That sweet smell.

He knew that sweet smell.

"K-K-K—"

"Blaine?"

He forced his eyelids upward, the late afternoon sun burning his eyes. He was saved from its rays just moments later by dazzling blue orbs. "Blaine?"

There it was. That voice like bells.

"Blaine, you're alive!" Kurt threw himself atop Blaine's chest, eliciting a pained groan from the knight. He sat up at once. "I'm so sorry! I just—you're alive! I thought—I thought maybe you—" Tears started to fall. "You can never scare me like that again, Blaine Anderson."

Blaine smiled weakly. "My apologies." His brow furrowed. "Hold on, why are you not below in the stronghold?"

"I decided to work in the infirmary instead."

"You _decided_—"

"And it is a good thing that I did, because they are short-staffed here."

"I can't believe you didn't—_Kurt_—"

"And I was able to be here when you woke up and—_stop you from sitting up, what are you _doing_ you imbecile?!_"

He shoved Blaine's shoulders back as they tried to come up off the cot. Blaine grimaced. "There is a battle going on, Kurt, and I'm needed."

"You just received a sword to the side, Blaine. You will barely be able to walk. How will you don armor and wield a sword?"

"No armor."

"No—did that sword pierce your _brain_? You wore armor last time you were wounded, how do you imagine to avoid it in your tunic?"

Blaine swung his legs slowly onto the floor and sat up, despite Kurt's protests. "I have to kill the queen. Her army is one of fear, not of loyalty. If she falls, they will scatter."

"She may be old but she is strong. How do you propose you beat her?"

Blaine stood with a groan. "Carefully." He slid into the clean clothes left beside the cot for him. "I shall be back soon, I promise."

Kurt gripped his hand, allowing Blaine to pull him into a tight embrace. "You can't promise that."

"For you, I can do anything." Blaine pressed a kiss into Kurt's hair and then limped off in the direction of the armory.

Kurt perched on the edge of the cot, burying his face in his hands. He knew he needed to help the matron with the other patients. He let himself feel Blaine's lips on his head for a moment longer before rising and returning to work.

* * *

"Maybe this was a bad idea."

"Sam, while I was unconscious, I had...a dream of sorts. I know how to kill the queen and end this bloodshed."

"You can barely stand."

This was true. Blaine was leaning heavily on the stone wall as Sam readied his supplies. "That is irrelevant. I just need enough strength for this."

"And this is?"

"Never you mind. You know your task."

"Yes, sire."

Blaine sighed. "I apologize for putting you in such danger."

"I knew when I first signed on to be your manservant this day would come. You were destined to be a great warrior. It is an honor to serve with you."

"I do not wish to be a warrior. I wish to be a man. Just a man. Nothing more."

* * *

Sam rode slowly through the Westvale camp, the angry eyes of over a hundred men, most of them wounded, tracking his every move. He stopped before the queen's tent and dismounted carefully. Four guards immediately surrounded him.

Queen Sue strode from her tent, head held high. "You must be extraordinarily dim-witted to come here alone."

Sam steadied himself. "I come bearing a message from my lord, Sir Blaine Anderson of Dalton."

Queen Sue's eyebrows shot upward. "Oh? Is it a surrender?"

"I cannot say."

"Let's have it then." Sam removed the scroll from a pouch on his horse's saddle. He handed it to the queen, who snatched it from him. "I shall go to my tent to read this. Does it require a response?"

"No, my lady."

"You may retreat to your lord."

"Yes, my lady." Sam climbed onto his horse once more and rode back to Dalton.

"My lady," a guard said, "do you not find it suspicious that the message does not require a response?"

"Surrenders rarely do."

Queen Sue retreated to her tent alone and perched on her throne. She languidly opened the scroll and read the words. Her eyes snapped wide in shock just before her blood covered the parchment.

* * *

Blaine had once hated cowardly acts of war, such as tricky tactics. He preferred to keep logic to the chessboard and to fight battles with honesty and strength.

He realized now just how naïve he had been. Once he had something—someone—to fight for, he dismissed the archaic notion of honor for the easiest solution. In this battle, Blaine's solution involved Sam presenting the queen with a distraction so he might sneak through the back of her tent and slit her throat.

The blood on his hands stained the ripped flap he'd cut into the back wall of the tent as he crawled out. Looking about circumspectly, he dashed into the woods, where Sam was waiting. The two galloped back to Dalton, listening to the shouts of men as news of the queen's death reached the battlefront. Sam halted Wes atop a tall hill and pulled a Dalton flag from a saddle pouch. He waved it conspicuously, catching the attentions of the thousands of soldiers. Within a minute or two, the vociferous clamor of war had fallen short.

"Brave men of Westvale!" Blaine shouted. "You have fought valiantly here today. You have done your people proud. But your queen is dead!" A sharp, pervasive cry rang out. "Your army is now leaderless. You may choose to fight on and continue to be slaughtered, or you may return to your homeland and crown a new sovereign who will be fair and kind to all people. This battle belongs to Dalton. It. Is. Over."

For a long moment, the field was still. Men on both sides of the fight exchanged looks of confusion. Finally, one man in a Westvale uniform stepped out of the masses toward Blaine. He stretched his sword out before him and dropped it. A beat, and then every Westvale soldier followed suit.

The battle was over.

Within a deafening roar, the Dalton men celebrated, cheering the Westvale retreat. Blaine mounted his stallion and charged toward the castle, leading his men home.

* * *

Kurt was nervous. The sounds of battle had ceased some time ago, suddenly and inexplicably. From his vantage point at the window of the great hall, he couldn't see the fields, and the matron refused his pleas to go outside, commanding him to help the wounded. With a sigh, he turned to resume his duties.

Until the distinct clop of hooves on cobbles drew his attention back to the window. Coming into the courtyard was Blaine astride Wes, with Sam on his heels. Behind them rode and ran the entire forces of Dalton. Blaine wore no armor, so Kurt could see plainly the elation on his face.

"YES!" Kurt bellowed, startling the entire ward. He raced out of the hall, through the castle, and into the courtyard just as Blaine halted and slid from his stead. Kurt launched himself into Blaine's arms and the two embraced tightly, thoughtless of their witnesses. "You're okay," Kurt breathed, hot and worried in his ear. "You're okay."

"Well, I'm still aching a bit," Blaine chuckled.

"Oh, sorry!" Kurt leapt off of his lover, cheeks flushed. "I'm so ecstatic to see you safe."

"But not healthy." Sam clapped a hand on Blaine's shoulder from behind. "You have had quite the day, my lord. I must insist you go to bed. Sir Noah can lead the men. Come, let's go."

Before Blaine could argue, Kurt and Sam were ushering him to his quarters like a recalcitrant child, leaving the victorious but battle-weary army behind.

* * *

Kurt watched Blaine sleep, gripping his hand tightly. Seeing his eyes closed reminded Kurt of just a few hours ago, when he was unsure if they would ever open again. He wanted nothing more than to lie beside his lover, but the matron was due to stop by, and they couldn't risk it. Kurt was sure he had already given their secret away when Blaine was first carried into the infirmary. Kurt let his forehead hit the bed with a groan.

A moment later, the door creaked open, and Kurt shot to his feet, whipping around to face—_the prince_. Kurt's breath caught in his throat. He had lived a thousand lives since he last laid eyes on his tormentor, and the sudden shock of seeing him sent Kurt reeling.

Prince David seemed just as surprised to see Kurt at Blaine's side. "What are you doing here?"

Kurt forced himself to lower his head in deference. "My liege, I volunteered to watch over Sir Blaine so the matron might care for the other casualties. I was not aware you had returned to the castle."

"Well, I should enjoy your company tonight, now that I have come home." Kurt swallowed the fearful sob that crawled up his throat.

"David?" Kurt looked up to see the king enter the room. He bowed deeply. "Oh, dear boy, please stand. Have you been caring for our good knight here?"

"Yes, my liege."

"K-Kur—"

Three pairs of eyes snapped to Blaine's face. Kurt quickly applied a moist cloth to his forehead. "My lord, are you feeling well?"

"Better, for you are with me."

Kurt's face burned bright, and he prayed to the gods that the men behind him did not hear Blaine's mumbling. "Sir Blaine, King Paul and Prince David have come to see you."

That roused Blaine quickly. "My lords—" He attempted to sit up, but Kurt gently pushed his shoulders back.

"Calm yourself, friend," the king said easily. "You have had a rough day. You saved your people, after all."

Blaine looked down. "No, sire, I was simply carrying out my duties."

"That is where you are wrong. You did not merely lead those men into battle; you lead them into victory. Sir Noah has been singing your praises since we arrived. You acted with unprecedented courage and cunning today, Sir Blaine, and your valor has saved Dalton from doom. For that, I shall grant you anything you wish."

Blaine's eyes were round as moons. They flicked over to Kurt's momentarily, which looked just as stunned. "Sire, I would very much appreciate a private word with the prince."

The king was visibly surprised by the knight's answer, Prince David even more so. But King Paul nodded and said to Kurt, "Come, my boy. Let us leave these men in peace. I am sure that now he has awoken, our hero could do with a proper meal." Kurt stood, gave Blaine's hand a surreptitious squeeze, and followed the king out of the chamber.

And then Blaine and Prince David were alone.

* * *

Kurt was mindlessly assembling a tray laden with vittles for Blaine. He may have left the knight's quarters, but his mind certainly hadn't. He fretted over what Blaine was saying to the prince. He knew the rage and hatred Blaine harbored for the man, and Kurt could not imagine how Blaine might be punished if he gave those feelings a voice.

Well, he could, and hence his fear.

He sighed and dropped an apple onto the tray. Suddenly, a hand slipped into his own, startling him. He whipped around to find bright, wild hazel eyes boring into his. "Come, we must hurry."

Kurt allowed himself to be tugged from the kitchens. "Blaine, where are we—"

"We're going home."

"I don't under—"

"Kurt." Blaine stopped their rapid passage through the serpentine corridors by ducking into an alcove. "Do you trust me?"

"With everything I possess."

"Good." Blaine resumed his fast-paced navigation of the castle. In a minute, they were outside, half-running to the old stable, Kurt trailing behind and still hopelessly confused. When they reached it, they found Sam once again attaching the cart to Margaret.

"The food is still good, and should last you until your arrival."

"Thank you, Sam."

"And Kurt, I took the liberty of packing your things. I hope you don't mind."

Kurt turned to Sam, thoroughly bewildered. "But I don't—"

Blaine removed a satchel from his back that Kurt hadn't even noticed. "I've...liberated some things from the castle. I'm sure they will not be missed." His smirk was mischievous. "Soon."

As Blaine passed the pack to Sam, Kurt swore he saw a flash of gold.

"Blaine, what is _happening_?!"

Blaine turned to face Kurt. He gripped the younger man's hands and kissed his knuckles. "I am taking you away, far away from this place of torment and nightmares. We shall return to Lima, to your family. We're going home."

Tears sprang to Kurt's eyes. "You're—you're—but what of your duties?"

"I've had a conversation with the prince. Everything is settled. But we must hurry."

Blaine turned to Sam and the two embraced tightly. "You have been the greatest friend to me. To us. I cannot convince you to come with us?"

"No, my friend. If I have learned anything from you, it is that I must not ignore love's call. As soon as you ride off, I shall run to the kitchens and ask Mercy to be mine."

"I shall miss you, brother."

"And you as well." They embraced again. "Godspeed, Sir Blaine Anderson, knight of Dalton."

Sam stepped around and hugged Kurt as well. "Take care, Kurt. You are strong and brave, and the two of you deserve happiness together."

Blaine helped Kurt onto Pavarotti and then mounted Margaret. They said their final goodbyes to Sam, and then they were off, trotting quickly toward Lima.

Toward home.

* * *

They stopped at dusk, the day after the battle, in a clearing not unlike the one they shared two nights ago—could it be only two nights? It felt more like years—and set up camp. They collapsed onto their straw mattress, mindful of Blaine's wound, laughing uncontrollably.

"I can't believe we're free!" Kurt gasped, clinging to Blaine.

"Free from the tyranny of a cruel prince!"

"Free to love you."

Blaine kissed him soundly.

"How did you convince him to let me go, anyway?"

Blaine's smile faded away. "It doesn't matter."

Kurt propped himself on his elbow. He picked Blaine's hand up off his bare chest and played with his fingers. "Tell me."

Blaine sighed.

* * *

"_You wished to speak with me?" David asked, perching on the edge of Blaine's bed._

_Blaine wanted to vomit for being so near the monster, but he swallowed his rage. "Yes, my lord. I have a request, a wish, so to speak."_

"_Anything for such a brave friend." David smiled warmly._

_Blaine wanted to punch that smile off his face._

"_I wish for Kurt."_

_David's brow furrowed in confusion. "As a servant?"_

"_No. As my love."_

_David leapt from the bed. "You filthy—"_

"_Do not pretend with me, David."_

"_You shall refer to me as—"_

"_David. I know. I know the horrid things you do to Kurt in the dead of the night. I know how you torture him, how he suffers. I know his fear, his nightmares, his sadness. I know _everything.

"_I also know how your father feels about such relations between men. Not just he, but the other kings of Erie as well. How would Dalton fare if word got around that the heir apparent consorted with men?"_

_Blaine had no intention of putting his homeland in such danger, but the blood that fled from David's face was worth the bluff._

"_What—what of you—"_

"_Tell everyone. One knight's immorality matters little. But a prince—come, David."_

_David collapsed into the chair Kurt once occupied. "What exactly do you want?"_

_Blaine smiled. "Freedom. I wish to take Kurt and run, be free of this land and of your torment. Live a long and beautiful life with the man I love in peace."_

"_You love that useless whore?"_

"_DO NOT SPEAK OF HIM IN THAT WAY!" Blaine roared. He struggled out of bed. "He is ten times the man you could ever hope to be. He has suffered through loss and pain and torture and fear and still he holds his head high. He is everything to me, and I had to pick up the pieces for months as you broke him over and over and _over_ again._

"_So no more. You will let me take Kurt somewhere safe, you will relieve me of my duties, and you will never come near us again." _

_By the end, Blaine's chest was heaving. His wound was on fire, but that was irrelevant. _

_What mattered was the clear resignation on David's face. "What shall I tell my father? The men?"_

"_I find myself unable to care."_

_David nodded. "Go." Then a dangerous look flashed in his eyes. "But if you or he _ever_ comes into this castle or this city again, I shall have you both hanged."_

"_I have no intention of letting that happen."_

_David stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Blaine began packing at once._

* * *

"Blaine!" Kurt exclaimed. "How could you—you can never return home!"

The older man silenced him with a kiss. "I _am_ home, Kurt. Don't you see? Wherever you are, so goes my heart. I was raised in that castle, I have friends in that castle, but I will never be happier than I am here, right now, in your arms. If you are safe and happy, so am I."

Kurt leaned down and kissed him softly. He draped his body over Blaine's, and the sudden weight put pressure on Blaine's wound. When Blaine hissed sharply, Kurt jumped back. "I'm so sorry, I forgot." He reached for a bag at the foot of the tent. "We should change your dressings." Kurt went to work redressing Blaine's wound. As he pulled off the old cloths, tears sprang to his eyes.

Blaine saw this and grabbed his hand. "Hey. I'm here. I made it out okay. We both did."

"I thought you were going to die, Blaine," Kurt whispered. "I thought I would never see your eyes again, or feel your fingertips on my skin, or hear you say you love me—" He choked off in a sob.

"I will never abandon you, my love," Blaine insisted, gently pulling Kurt down so he could kiss his forehead. "I will always come back to you. That is my solemn vow."

Kurt began wrapping the wound in new bandages. "Just...you may never scare me so badly again."

"Never." When Kurt finished, Blaine pointed to the bag. "Do you see the jar of oil in that bag?"

"Yes." Kurt extracted it. "What is it?"

"It is something you can use to make love to me." Kurt's eyebrows flew upward, but Blaine was quick to elaborate. "You know I would never force you to do anything you don't feel ready for. I know David never...prepared you before he penetrated you." Kurt's face colored brightly. "That's one of the reasons it was so painful. But with proper preparation, it can feel amazing. And if you're ready, I would like to show you."

"I can't—it hurts—"

"Kurt, shh." Blaine took his hand and tugged him close. "I was hoping _you_ would enter _me_, Kurt."

"But—how—I don't—"

"Kurt, if you don't want to do this, we don't have to."

"I want to be close to you. But...show me?"

Blaine nodded. "First, we undress." The color returned to Kurt's cheek. "Love, you are _stunning_. You put all of the gods' creations to shame. It is an honor to see you. Besides, do you not remember our first night in this tent?"

"Oh I remember."

"Then worry not. Your body is safe with me."

Kurt first eased Blaine out of his trousers and undergarments, and then carefully peeled his own layers off. Then, more quickly than either had anticipated, they were naked together, and the small tent was much hotter. Blaine spilt some oil onto Kurt's long fingers. Kurt slid one into Blaine's entrance as per the former knight's directions. When he saw a pained look flash across Blaine's face, he pulled out in a panic. "I'm hurting you, oh gods I'm so sorry—"

"Kurt, stop," Blaine laughed breathily. "I promise I am fine. This _will_ be uncomfortable for me at first, but I swear to you I shall feel pleasure soon enough."

With an uncertain nod, Kurt resumed stretching Blaine's hole, adding a second finger when instructed. His fingertips brushed a small something inside of Blaine, and the older man's back arched off of the straw mattress. "Oh, _gods_, Kurt, it feels—so—oh gods..._yes_..."

Emboldened, Kurt brushed it again, enjoying the pleasured keen that arose from Blaine's throat. He watched as Blaine's hole stretched to accommodate him before adding another finger and angling his own body to take Blaine's interested cock in his mouth. Blaine made a sound as though he was simultaneously choking and drowning. "Kurt, Kurt, _please_, oh gods—you have to stop, lest this ends too soon."

Kurt reluctantly removed his fingers from Blaine. "What now?"

"Come here."

Kurt shimmied up Blaine's body, one leg on either side, mindful of the wound, until he hovered over Blaine's waiting mouth. Blaine craned his neck upward and began to suck Kurt's rock-hard erection. His head tipped back, pulling lungfuls of air as his dick sank into Blaine's mouth, a pleasure he had never experienced shaking over his skin. Kurt's Blaine's hot, wet, tight mouth around him brought stars dancing before his eyes. Blaine's head bobbed off after a few minutes. He seized the oil and lathered Kurt's length with it, sending Kurt reeling. "Oh gods, _Blaine_..."

"You're ready," Blaine whispered.

Nodding shakily, Kurt returned to his place between Blaine's legs. He lifted Blaine's hips and placed some blankets underneath. Then he leaned over Blaine's body and pushed inside of it, mind exploding with _hottightmoreyes_. His face hovered just above Blaine's, and then they were kissing feverishly, desperately, lips and tongues and teeth scrambling to caress every inch of exposed skin in reach. Their hands, slick with sweat and oil, slid and clutched at each other as Kurt moved in and out of Blaine, his pace becoming increasingly erratic as they surged together. The sounds they made were beautiful, moans and groans and keens and sighs and gasps and grunts and _please_s and _don't stop_s and _more_s. They professed their love over and over, with their lips, with their eyes, with their hands, with their motions.

They did not quite climax together. A sharp thrust paired with a firm bite on his neck toppled Blaine over the edge. The sight of Blaine's ecstasy, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth agape around a moan, his body contracting around Kurt brought the younger man with him a moment later. When Kurt collapsed, he was careful to do so off to the side, so as not to hurt his lover. They panted in tandem, clutching desperately at each other.

"Riding may be difficult tomorrow," Blaine murmured, and then the two were laughing, doubled over and wheezing.

"I love you very much, Sir Blaine."

"No," Blaine corrected, tracing circles in Kurt's clavicle with his thumb. "Not Sir Blaine. Not anymore. Just Blaine."

"Just Blaine." Kurt kissed him soundly. "Then I love you, Just Blaine."

"Just Blaine loves you too, Kurt."

They slept well.

* * *

Kurt tried not to smirk as Blaine winced continually. He felt guilty, naturally, for putting him in a state of pain, but he could not swallow the pride that the previous night's amorous activities brought him. Blaine, too, looked rather pleased whenever he caught Kurt's eye. After all, it was really thanks to him that the experience happened at all.

That thought sparked a question in Kurt. "How did you know?"

"Pardon me?"

"How did you know...what to do last night? You seemed very knowledgeable in the ways of homosexual lovemaking. I knew nothing but you...well, you were well-informed."

Blaine's face showed shame. "I'm afraid you will not like the answer."

Kurt let go of the reins with one hand to take Blaine's hand in his own. "You can tell me anything."

"I was in a relationship of a sexual nature with Sir Sebastian."

"I don't know him."

"Sam filled me in on what happened after I was wounded. Sebastian is the one who carried me into the infirmary."

"Oh." A strange feeling arose in Kurt's gut. Sir Sebastian was very handsome and very strong. He was manlier than Kurt was. If that was Blaine's preference for lovers...

"Stop." Kurt looked up at Blaine. "Your concerns are quite plain on your face. Sebastian was...convenient, I suppose. Both of us had urges we could share with no one, so we shared them with each other. I never felt for him a tenth of what I feel for you. What I shared with Sebastian was purely physical. What I share with you is...perfect."

"So you're not...concerned with the fact that I've been used?"

"Kurt." Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand. "Of course I'm concerned. Bad things happened to you, and it will take time to heal those wounds. But if you're asking if that makes you less attractive to me, I am disappointed in myself, because I had hoped last night would have convinced you that you are the most attractive person in the world to me."

Kurt grinned, embarrassed. "And you to me."

* * *

They arrived in Lima shortly before dusk. Kurt halted Pav before a modestly-sized thatched house fairly close to the town center. He slid from the horse's back, Blaine following suit moments later. The two walked hand-in-hand to the front door.

"You ready?" Blaine whispered.

"Not really." Kurt knocked on the door.

After a minute or so, an older man with little hair opened the door. "How may I—_Kurt_?"

"Father." Kurt's face crumpled and the two were hugging and crying and babbling incoherently. Blaine smiled softly, incredibly glad that his lover was reunited with his father, even if he felt out of place in the moment.

Kurt's father held his son at arm's length. "Look at you. You've grown so much is just a few short months."

"Long months, Father. So incredibly long."

Kurt's father finally spotted Blaine. "Who is this?"

"Oh, Father, this is—my—"

"I'm Blaine, sir. Blaine Anderson." He shook Burt's hand. "I'm a friend of Kurt's."

"Friend, you say?" He didn't seem to believe that. "I'm Burt Hummel."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Hummel."

"Come in, boys, you must have been riding for a long time." They followed Burt into the house and sat around a table set for three. "Finn should be home any minute, and Carole left to see an emergency patient. We didn't expect guests, so food is—"

"We have some in the cart," Kurt assured him.

"I'll go take care of the horses," Blaine said, standing up. "You stay and reconnect with your father." He stopped himself from bending down to kiss Kurt's cheek and left the house.

"So...friend you say."

Kurt looked curiously at his father. "How do you mean?"

"Kurt, please, I know you. I raised you. He's not merely your friend, is he?" Kurt shook his head minutely, fear coloring his expression. Burt raised his hand soothingly. "Son, do not worry. I have known since you were quite young that you are different from other boys. I love you, so it matters little who you love, so long as you're loved."

Tears leaked from Kurt's eyes. "Oh Father..." Kurt rushed to hug Burt. Burt held his son as he cried. A few minutes later, the front door opened and Blaine stepped inside. He froze when he saw the two men embracing. "Did I miss something?"

"Blaine." Kurt crossed to his lover and kissed him fully.

Blaine jumped back, eyes wide and terrified. "Kurt, your _father_—"

"I know, son." Burt walked over and clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome to the family."

* * *

Kurt's reunion with the rest of the family was just as emotional. Carole sobbed uncontrollably and Finnegan hugged him tightly. The latter shook Kurt slightly, and Blaine realized that Finn was similar in size to David. He was sure to be as reassuring as possible for Kurt, though their physical interactions were limited by the secrecy of their relationship around Carole and Finnegan. After supper (Kurt and Blaine shared the food leftover from their trip), the newcomers and Burt left the house for a short walk to Burt's shop. There they would have privacy to talk.

Kurt sat on the front counter, and Blaine followed suit. Burt chose a wooden stool and waited. "What was the castle like, son?"

Kurt's hand immediately clutched Blaine's. "Father, I have to tell you some things, about me, about my experiences, about Blaine, and I need you to stay calm. Your health is weak, and now that I no longer serve the prince, we...we cannot afford your medicine." Kurt looked away, ashamed.

"Actually, I have a solution for that." Both Hummels looked at Blaine curiously. "I may have...liberated some gold from the royal coffers before we fled."

"_Liberated?_" Kurt screeched.

"_Fled?_" Burt looked very concerned now. "Tell me what happened."

And so they did. For several hours, the they regaled Burt with their story. Blaine was forced to take over for Kurt when the younger man could not go on. A number of times, Burt leapt to his feet in anger, and it took both men to calm him. All three cried, particularly when Blaine explained why David wanted Kurt so fervently. They left out details of their physical relationship, naturally, but otherwise told Burt everything.

"And now we're here," Kurt finished with a sad smile. "Blaine helped me regain my freedom, and now we wish to start a life together." Blaine pulled Kurt into his arms and kissed the top of his head.

"I...I can't believe you suffered through all of that, Kurt," Burt said gruffly. "This was never what I wanted for you. I promised your mother I would care for you, and I failed."

"Father, no. I agreed to the position. But it doesn't matter. I'm safe now, and I have someone I love."

"That you do. I want you to know I will do everything in my power to keep you both safe from those who disapprove of who you are. Of course, Blaine being a knight can never hurt."

"Former knight."

"All the same, staying safe is what's important. Now let us go home. I'm certain the pair of you need rest."

* * *

The very next day, despite his injury, Blaine began construction on their cottage.

"I'm going to give you the life you deserve, Kurt," he insisted. "We're going to have a home, and a family—well, your family—and we'll be happy. I swear it."

And so he went to work on a little patch of land less than a mile from Burt's house, just enough space for a three-room home, a small stable for Pavarotti and Margaret, and a garden.

While Blaine laid log upon log, Kurt returned to work for Carole. Now that they were two, and had horses for transportation, they healed more people faster. Kurt was even called away on several occasions to heal residents of neighboring villages, some of which suffered greatly in the invasion by Westvale forces. Soon, they were earning enough to allow Burt to stop working, giving Finnegan control of the wheelwright shop and Burt the ability to rest properly.

Blaine finished thatching the roof just over two months after their arrival. The _liberated funds_ Blaine brought with them in their escape from Dalton turned out to be enough money to completely furnish the home, as well as to make repairs to Burt's house and shop, to keep Carole's medicinal stores fully stocked, and, of course, to maintain Burt's health. Their first night in their house—_their_ house, _theirs, their _bed, _their _kitchen,_ their garden_, one life shared—was better than the previous ones in Burt's. Almost every night, Kurt would awaken to nightmares of being dragged from his bed by thick hands, hauled across the floor, pinned down until his arms lost all feeling, violated over and over and over—but Blaine was always there. Blaine held him and kissed away his tears and sang to him lullabies until he was calm enough to sleep once more.

But that first night was different. After using the oil for well over an hour, they disintegrated into a mess of sweaty limbs. They whispered sweet nothings to each other for some time—Blaine tried to recite some poetry, but his pleasure-addled brain prevented him from recalling anything but the taste of Kurt exploding in his mouth—until they fell asleep. They awoke to bright sunshine and twittering birds, not to screams or sobs or pain.

The nightmare was over.

And thus the dream began.

* * *

Edited by the incomparable stut-ter.

Cover art drawn by the brilliant artistwriterloverfighter.

Dedicated to the birthday girl, youandmeon-thelastpage.

Find them all on Tumblr.

Thanks to all the teachers who never once asked why I was scribbling on piles of paper instead of doing classwork. This is what I was doing those three weeks.

**PERSONAL TUMBLR: **nothingbutgoneness**  
****FANFICTION TUMBLR: **kqwriting**  
****FANFICTION BANK TUMBLR: **klaineficneeds


	2. Not a Chapter

Dear readers,

This is not a second chapter to this story, but a response to the flood of primarily anonymous reviews I've received regarding the filtering of this story. Most of those reviews have been angry, belligerent, hostile, and rude. So I'm going to respond once here and that's it.

has recently made changes to its character tagging system, and I am extremely unfamiliar with those changes. When I posted this story, I tagged four characters: Blaine, Kurt, Sam, and Karofsky. I tagged them in that exact order, which was, in my opinion, from most main to least main. I was planning on tagging all the characters, but apparently you can only tag four, which is fine. I had no intent to suggest that this was a Kurtofsky story at all, and my summary is clearly indicative of that.

Somehow, and exactly how is beyond me, that is exactly what happens. That was beyond my control. When I received the first review that was expressed concern over the misread "anti-Karofsky" message of this fic, I responded in kind on my Tumblr. However, _nowhere_ in that review did the anon inform me that this fic was tagged as _only_ Kurt H. & D. Karofksy. S/he was angry that I tagged Karofksy-which of course I did, he's a fucking character in the story-but never told me my mistake was that. S/he also made some fallacious and rude accusations that I addressed as well. I stand by everything I said in that response.

Several others have since expressed their anger over the tagging mishap, and I now understand the full scope of the problem and fixed it. This fic should now be tagged solely as Kurt H. & Blaine A., or vice versa, and if it isn't, please let me know. But there was absolutely no need for the utterly hateful, inconsiderate, disrespectful reviews that I received. I had no idea Kurtofsky shippers were such an impertinent group of people.

I would like to say thank you only to Kim, who wrote me the only polite and civilized Kurtofsky-centered review of the lot. I hope you represent your fellow shippers better than the others did, because they were simply disheartening.

As I said before, I have hopefully fixed the problem. This fic should no longer be found in the Kurt H. & D. Karofksy tag. I would like to state, just because you pissed me off, that you should have been able to discern the main ship of the story by the summary. It's pretty damn straight-forward.

And next time you have a problem with me or any other fic writer, get your heads out of your asses and be intelligent about what you say. You lot sounded like caterwauling children.

Sincerely,  
nothingbutgoneness


End file.
